


Endemism

by mouserat



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Pre-The Heroes of Olympus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 22:59:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4979923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mouserat/pseuds/mouserat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grover Underwood has absolutely no idea why Percy Jackson is his best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Endemism

Grover does not believe in stereotypes.

He has made friends with countless individuals, mythological or not. Fellow satyrs, tree nymphs, naiads, mortals, newly proclaimed Oracles with unruly red hair, centaurs, dryads (specifically of the Juniper tree variety), and the occasional blueberry bush. Of course half-bloods as well: Annabeth, Thalia, Luke, Percy.

Grover sometimes gets quite mixed up about his relationship with Percy. They are so different – Percy is so loyal and brave and unknowingly tactless, blissfully unaware of his charm that creeps into the unsuspecting and protective hearts of others (most commonly noted with an adventurous daughter of Athena). Grover is simply – Grover. He always has grass stains on his earth colored tee shirts. He turns heroes into trees and gets insulted by pot-bellied Cloven Elders and, deep down, Grover knows his Hillary Duff is terribly off tune. Percy and Grover are different in many obvious ways, one of the most visible points being the contrast of their lower waists. Percy's steps are skilled and fast while Grover's clop and jump clumsily.

Percy has this way of radiating power – he doesn't try to, he just _does_ , which is almost even more intimidating in a way. Grover always grasps on Percy's every word, because all of those ridiculous sentences that slip and flow between the gates of Percy's teeth always manage to either save Grover's life or make him laugh so hard he bleats against his will. Grover gets hooked onto Percy's spoken paragraphs like the Ophiotaurus gets caught in trawler's nets.

It all just reminds Grover of how unchangeably _inferior_ he is to Percy – so useless and unimportant compared to a handsome and powerful half-blood. Not that Grover is resentful towards Percy – oh, no – Grover simply wonders why Percy would ever decide to hang out with someone like him. Grover has accomplished nothing. The Wild was in ruins. Grover was no savior, just the loyal sidekick to Percy Jackson (a title which could be viewed as slightly demeaning, but Grover can't hide the slight surge of pride that ripples through his chest when it is spoken). Grover can't help but ache for the stars and long for the sweet smell of honeysuckle in the spring, and the broken and burnt tree bark that crunches under his hooves only reminds him of his unfulfilled dreams.

Grover will never amount to anything, and a lot of the time, he has absolutely no clue why Percy is his best friend.

Grover is reminded of these thoughts as he and Percy are having a smooth conversation in the camp woods, looking onward toward Zeus's Fist, toward one of the former entrances to the Labyrinth, where Pan had awaited him. Grover Underwood.

The demigod and the satyr continued to gaze at the pile of boulders that had so drastically altered the course of their existence – the transformation of you-know-who (Grover could never quite say his name without a shudder, so he often opted not to utter it at all), a mortal's introduction to the danger of the mythological world, the passing of an ancient legend, and the discovery and – and the loss of Pan.

It's all so much for Grover to comprehend. It has been ages since the Battle of the Labyrinth, yet it is all still fresh in Grover's mind, tugging at the strings of his bones and the rivers in his veins. It might have been the empathy link, it might have been their shared glance at the vision before them, but somehow Percy knew exactly what Grover was thinking, which didn't surprise Grover in the slightest.

"Grover, you didn't find Pan," Percy states, staring deep into Grover's soil trimmed pupils. Grover can see the waves rippling in the deep sea pools of Percy's eyes, his own personal ocean, filled with tumbling and unpredictability and restlessness and the occasional oversized hippocampus childishly named Rainbow. Percy's reckless eyes meet Grover's and refuse to turn away, the sea meeting the natured shore, the joining of two beings. Grover can't break away from Percy's gaze – more than that, he can't break away from Percy, because, yeah, in the old days they almost died a lot, but _almost, Grover, almost_.

The five words that tumble out of Percy's unrestrained tongue should offend the emotional satyr, but Percy's words, however blunt, are not intended to be harsh. The statement carries a lingering promise, a slight catch, and Grover doesn't realize he's holding his breath until his reed pipes start to itch against his skin. Percy blinks, and it feels like time slows down as his long eyelashes brush over the sea encased in his eyelids, and gods oh gods Percy just tell me already.

Percy's coral lips part and he delivers, "Pan found you."

The son of the sea god looks of wistfully into the camp forest, a small, content smile tugging at the corners of his lips. These are the moments where Grover is reminded of the reason why Percy is his best friend, why he knows for certain he and Percy are permanently and soulfully tied.

Because even though Percy may not have hooves, he does like cheese enchiladas.


End file.
